Only when I stop to think about it
by Gariand
Summary: ONESHOT. Time makes slaves of us all, and only when I stop to think about it, do I realise just how worth it the waiting really was.


**South Park… not mine…. Matt and Trey's.**

**Song that I got the title and some lines from is I Hate Everything About You…. Not mine either. It belongs to a band called Three Days Grace.**

**Now what does belong to me?

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**Only When I Stop to Think About It**

"_I hate everything about you."_

They were Stan's exact words.

Although he had never needed to say them; the scowl on his face, and the deep anger that arose in his ocean-like eyes were enough to let me know just how broken our supposedly "super best friendship" now was.

"_Get out of my face, Broflovski."_

If his words alone didn't hurt enough, his very tone of voice cut deeper than any knife could. I couldn't see his eyes anymore; he refused to give me the privilege of eye contact, but I didn't need to. I had seen enough with the previous glance. And I had heard enough from his mere words. I couldn't even speak, my voice had caught in my throat, and I was unable to plead with him. Even if I could have spoken, I probably wouldn't have. I wanted anything other than to incite anymore words of hatred from him; I think it would have killed me.

I wanted to though; so badly. I wanted to call to him, make him understand, as he walked the length of Bonanza Street away from me, to escape me.

_Sweet Moses, he thinks I'm contagious._

I could tell, at that exact moment, whether it was his words or his manner or his purposeful gait that he wanted nothing more to do with me. My previous wish to call out to him had grown; somehow, I had to force him back, make him listen to me, make him realise it meant nothing, realise it changed nothing. It was everything I wanted to do, yet everything I wanted to avoid doing. If he could have just turned around and looked at me… no… he wasn't going to do that, not anymore.

"_Stan, I'm gay."_

Three words. And he had skulked off in retaliation, although not before he had delivered his own verbal blow back at me. He hated me, he hated everything about me, just because of that. Was it because he didn't understand? Or was it some dormant homophobia in him that couldn't seem to accept that this didn't just happen to our teachers or dogs? Had I made him feel uncomfortable?

I didn't know… somehow I didn't care. Why did it matter? He had expressed his opinion clearly enough already, it didn't need a reason. After every time we had spent with each other, whether it being lying awake snickering at each others' lame jokes at countless times we had spent at our houses, or every room mate we had kept awake at our mad antics at college. Every hit we had taken, metaphorical or physical, every shout or scream or laugh we had shared, he was willing to drop it so suddenly.

_And why is that, Kyle?_

Three words. And not one of them had even been an attempt to "come on" to him. Yet he still hated me. Because of one thing about me, he hated every part. Every fucking queer bone in my queer body.

"_I hate everything about you."_

My hopes raised slightly as I passed him in the street a couple of days after the "incident". He looked up slowly, his blue eyes previously full to the brim with hate now staring deep into my own, and all I could see was emptiness.

"D'you know what, Kyle? I still don't miss you yet."

Again, in a savage repetition of his earlier escape from me, he buried his hands deep in his pockets and gave me a good view of his back. My mouth was open in shock; How could he? Of all the things he could have said…

It was at that point I realised something else; in spite of tears that threatened to pour, his deliberate cruelty had hardened my own heart. I knew what it was like to feel completely numb. Of course that had happened before, years ago, when I had fallen and slipped through ice. The physical numbness… I could remember every nanosecond of the event; unable to think of anything, unable to feel anything. But he had saved me, as he had so many times before.

"_Kyle! Goddamnit… Kyle!"_

He had reached down, through the hole, risking the thin ice that had claimed me. He had grasped the scruff of my jacket; I could remember him pulling, determined to rescue me from the icy water, while precious air bubbles spilled from my mouth. Then came a sudden rush of air, and the concerned view of Stan as he dragged me to the safety of the hard bank, as I choked on fresh air.

"_Shit, Stan… is he…?"_

"_Just call a fucking ambulance, Ken. Kyle? Kyle, dammit… you're fucking frozen. Don't… don't die on me, dude…"_

I hadn't, obviously. And yet even though cold had stolen every sense in me, I remembered Stan taking off his jacket and wrapping it around my shivering form. I remember him holding my hand every second as we waited for the ambulance… talking, about anything… anything to keep me conscious, while Kenny and Cartman mulled in the background.

He was there, the Stan he once was; the caring, compassionate, honourable person I wanted for my super best friend. The person who I chose to sit next to in kindergarten. The person who included me in the holiday season despite my Jewish-ness. The person who had rescued me from so much more than just icy water.

But that Stan was gone; the homophobe had destroyed him. He was no longer Stan, just another man, another hater, another enemy.

As if Cartman wasn't enough…

And as I viewed Stan, or what he had become, in this light, the less I missed him in return. Why would I want to stay friends with someone like this?

_If he was not Stan, then he was not my friend. If he was no longer the man from my memories, then why should I miss him?_

He had gone. And taking a leaf from my practical father's book; _"Why cry over that which is gone? Will that bring it back? If it is gone, it is gone, and it will be found when time sees fit."_

Of course this was when I was very young, and had merely lost one of my favourite video games. I had merely pouted and proclaimed that I would turn the whole house upside down to find it if I had to. He had shaken his head in dismay and settled back to his newspaper. He was right, of course. Even through all my searching it was a random shifting of pillows that had unearthed it. Even through all my efforts, it had been found when it wanted to be found.

I had never really listened to my father much; years of gambling away our house and dolphinoplasties had given me a sceptical view on most of the things he had said. Still, I couldn't help myself; I found myself applying it to the situation at hand.

_Why cry over that which is gone? Will that bring it back?_

Stan's gone. The Stan who had looked at me with murder in his gaze was not the Stan I had known all these years, shared such happy or not so happy memories with. And if mere crying could bring that back, I would have shed a thousand tears on that first night of change. But no, I could tell, no amount of blubbing could remind Stan of who he was, or the simple fact that my sexuality shouldn't change things.

_If it is gone, it is gone, and will be found when time sees fit._

That part always made me laugh; as if time was a person, deciding when things happened. Although, at certain times, it did seem like it was in control. "Only time will tell" and all that. Certain things depend on time, and nothing else can sway it until time decides it is right.

Sure, my old man didn't have the greatest common sense, but he sure learned some things at that law school he went to.

And until time decided that Stan should get over this abnormal behaviour of his, then nothing I could say or do until that point would do a damn thing. So until then, why should I miss him?

Time did decide on a specific time and place, eventually. When every meeting inbetween then and before had been a smirk and snide comment from him, and complete indifference from me. Although many times it was not complete indifference; I had seen at certain meetings a flicker of the old Stan come through, when he had paused before the "hate", when his smirk was only brief. As I said, it was a mere flicker, but I had hope.

_Just wait, Kyle, don't show him you miss him. You don't miss him. He's not Stan yet. Just wait…_

He had come slowly, and I could sense the difference in him from the lack of his immediate voicing of his hate. I could tell automatically that this was it, the reconciliation, where Stan finally became Stan again.

_I hate everything about what Stan became._

Even that, just the thought of him going back, releasing everything from himself that I hated and so ignored with such passion, the indifference I had planted in myself also began to fade.

_Everything will go back, everything will be all right again._

Then he uttered the immortal line;

"I hate everything about you, Kyle."

My heart almost sank; everything I had hoped for, waited for, everything…

But it was different, there was no malice in his tone. The line was the same, but his voice…

"Stan?"

He sighed, before raising his eyes to mine, and I saw, they were not the eyes from the first night he uttered those words, they were the eyes of Stan, the boy I had proclaimed my super best friend, the man I had grown up with. Yes, the words were the same, but the person behind them was not.

"I hate everything about you…. So, why do I love you?"

Only when I stop to think about it, I realise just how worth it the waiting really was.

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**Aloha!**

**Yes, I know, very strange little oneshot, but I'm quite pleased with it, even if everyone else hates it.**

**Currently suffering from chronic writer's block and a load of A level coursework, this is basically just for me to attempt to get "back in the writing zone". I heard this song and thought "Right, I have to write something about it", so I did. **

**Thank you for reading!**

**Gari.**


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